BFF-TLF

While I was visiting Big J over July 4th, she promised home cooked country style meals. I have gotten such promises before only to be sadly sent home after salty meals at Hugo's favorite joints. Then Big J would call me about the fantastic tender ribs or apricot glazed pork chops she had cooked for someone else other than me. I wish I had me some of them phone recordings. This time she made good on her word cooking up tasty restaurant quality meals day after day sweatin' by her Viking. I never forget that somebody makes me pork sausages for breakfast, this is true love.

Archie Bunker

Big J says little A's been looking like a cranky old man these days. Wifebeater shirt, man boobs and a pot belly, and of course bad bed hair. Cutie pie's gone awol I guess when you've got no one new to impress.

Happy Birthday Big J

As I was groggily waking up on Saturday, I got a phone call from Big J demanding to know why we kept calling her without saying anything. C who was doing early morning carpentry at the Buddhist priory had his cell phone perfectly positioned so his pants dialed June. At least his pants and his left cheek remembered J's birthday.

Now that the crab strike has lifted, I had my first shellful of crab butter rubbed with rice and brandy.

Welcoming New Baby to the World.

It's official I have entered a new era of responsibility as an auntie. No more silliness and getting into fistfights, as I have an example to set. Even Hugo has cleaned up his act considerably to become a respectable grandpa.

Poor thing has got a bout of diaper rash causing no amount of heartache for J. Only if we could take turns suffering the rash for her.

Digging holes at home, digging holes at work, it's all the same. Can life get any saltier?

Miss Sof swung by yesterday, a whirlwind of heady and girly laughs. Her life stories full of flirtation and exploits. C got quite miffed because I sent him away so I could hear her stories in full detail and glory- some seduction involving drugs and coworkers, blue eyed asiophiles, fellow named Jesus at Burning Man. She said "I can play with the players now." I could see hearts and roses coming out of her conversation. Nothing but manacles, rats, and moldy bread on my end.

Big J has unearthed more revelatory dirt about her crooked contractor Mark. He had left her in the lurch with an unfinished kitchen and unpaid electricians; his checks to the cabinet makers bounced. Last week, he was known to be an adulterer who left his first wife to marry his mistress who was then pregnant. Of course the cheater is cheated as it turned out it was not his child. He is duly reviled by his birth children. Then this morning, it was further revealed that he had a third wife, Mark scammed her of her divorce settlement money from her more upright ex-husband. Furthermore, he has scammed a whole slew of clients of 200k and has fled the country. J thought she was the only one holding the bag, but there apparently is an exceedingly long line. Lucky for J she has lost only some ducats and sleepless nights.

In the front garden, there plays a red tailed squirrel who likes to look at the back of my head while munching on my nuts off the dogwood tree. I'll walk about testing my hypothesis, and he'll scamper up the tree accordingly so he can hit me with the crumbs all the while snacking away nut after nut. What a rat! But a really cute one so I'll let him go this time.

Mystery of mysteries, Douglas Supreme, C's agent, has sent in a paycheck without the requisite badgering phone calls. It's true.